Shades of unknown
by Inkfire
Summary: Their paths collide, cross and overlap, like a rocky ride that's heading straight for disasters. A two-shot for the OTP-with-a-twist challenge on The Dark Lord's Most Faithful Forum.
1. Frozen

**So here's the first of two DracoGinny pieces, for ThisLife103.7's OTP-with-a-twist challenge on The Dark Lord's Most Faithful Forum. Dedicated to TuesdayNovember, as all DracoGinny things go. I chose the third option. Next up will be an entirely different take on the same prompts... -coughsmutcough- **

_**OTP Challenge with a twist **_

_**You have to choose from one of the three scenarios below to incorporate your OTP into.**_

_**1# A hotel is the location, blood is thicker than water is the theme. A dictionary is an object that plays a part in the story.**_

_**2# A lift is the location, shyness is the theme. A picture frame is an object that plays a part in the story.**_

_**3# A bus stop is the location, threat is the theme. A camera is an object that plays a part in the story.**_

"You, here?"

Ginny Weasley froze dramatically between two odd armchairs, a hand flying to her heart. Beneath her sarcastically overdone reaction though, she was genuinely stunned. "Oh dear, too bad I don't have a camera right now, nobody will ever believe me when I tell them this. His Highness Draco Malfoy himself, _here_, in the Knight Bus?"

"Bite me, Weasley," snapped the elegant, tense-looking blonde she was staring at.

"What a witty comeback," she replied, taking a seat in front of him, to his horror. "I wonder how you come up with those, honestly."

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Sitting down, Malfoy. People like me have the right to a seat, too. Had you forgotten?"

He looked away. "There are seats everywhere here," he muttered. "The damn bus is empty."

"Oh, too bad. I would never have thought you were one to mingle with the masses."

He snorted. "That's actually why I was perfectly comfortable until you came barging in."

"Don't worry, Malfoy, I'm not excessively enjoying your presence either."

"Why are you still sitting here, then?"

"Because I don't like to run, nor hide. And guess what? I no longer have to."

He looked away again, scowling.

"Actually... I thought _you_ were liable to try and hide," she continued, "which brings me to my question... the Knight Bus? Honestly?"

"Do you see many people to hide from here?" he retorted. "It's not quite the widely-used wizarding means of transport, you know."

"You have a point," she admitted. "Why not hide at your manor? I doubt it's a widely-used place to hang out either. Why not Apparate straight there from wherever you had to go, instead of gracing us common people with your presence?"

He blanched a little, but stared straight into her eyes. "I wanted out. Is that a crime?"

"In context, hardly."

He shook his head. "I can't believe this," he growled. "Why am I even talking to you? There's no law that claims I should respond to your questions."

"Why are you doing it, then?" she shot back. "Out of altruism, perhaps?"

He was quiet for a second. "I don't know."

"We're free, Malfoy," she told him. "We're all free, you know?"

"Hooray," he muttered. "Yes, I suppose we are."

"Stop pulling on your martyr face," she snapped. "Even while on the winning side you were already doing that. You're just so good at getting the easy job. It's always someone else's fault, isn't it?"

He winced and did not reply.

"Your aunt very nearly killed me," she continued. "But I must be the one at fault, since I shouldn't have stood in her way. I should have hidden like you did, like a coward. And I guess you're going to glare at me for daring to mention it, too. After all, it's hardly your responsibility, right?"

"My mother saved Potter's skin," he reminded in a low voice.

"I don't care," she spat. "Be coherent. Either you're sticking with your family and ready to face your father's and aunt's atrocities, or you are your own person and mummy's bravery is nothing to your own mediocrity. Personally, I strongly advise you to man up and pick the last option. You're a big boy, Malfoy."

He looked up at her. "Why are you telling me this?" he asked. "Why bother?"

"I need to get it off my chest. And... looking at you, sitting here all grouchy and feeling sorry for yourself, it drives me crazy. It makes me want to shake you. Wake up, Malfoy. You're not going to wriggle out that easy."

"I quite know that," he interjected.

"No, you don't. So what are your plans? Lying low for a while, marrying the first pureblooded tart you can get your hands on, move into another lavish manor – or maybe stay at this one, why the hell not – and have a pretty little heir that you'll spoil into a perfect jerk, like Daddy?"

He just stared at her blankly, without responding.

"People are going to _live_, Malfoy," she growled. "They're going to be _hungry_. And if you'd rather lock yourself up in your tower and pretend they don't exist, then by all means go ahead. But you'd be even more stupid than I was giving you credit for."

"What would you have me do?" he muttered.

She stood up, glaring at him. "Live," she snarled. "It's not that hard. You can figure out the rest, I'm not your nanny."

The bus abruptly skidded, and she was thrown into his lap. She cried out in surprise and he gasped in shock, not knowing whether to push her off or lean away or _forward_, the scent of her hair assaulting him without warning.

She looked up, straight into his eyes. She still seemed livid, but there was an odd glint in her brown eyes. "Life is made of unknown and accidents," she breathed. "Seize it."

"Thanks for the piece of wisdom," he muttered, his eyes shifty.

"Seize it," she repeated, her low voice laced with threats. "Don't make me make you."

She kissed him, muffling his shout of astonishment, his lips searing hot upon his.

"That's my stop," she told him then, standing back up.

"Weasley – " he stammered.

She flashed a hard grin. "Bye, Malfoy. I'll see you around. Don't let me down, all right?"

And with that, she danced away.


	2. Scalding

**So here is the smutty version for the exact same situation and prompts as the previous chapter ;) **

**Love to TuesdayNovember for clarifying the word "canvas", and actually making me want to do this hot naughty thing. xD**

He is the first to arrive.

His wand flashes out of his pocket, raising arrogantly, straight and proud, into the evening mist, and with a _bang_ the huge purple bus appears. His head held high, he walks in, ignoring the conductor's obnoxious chatter, pays and heads straight up – to the top deck.

There is no one but him in there. Money does have its advantages, he thinks wistfully, staring out at the flashing-by countryside. Then comes the faint clicking of heels along with the creaking of the ancient wooden staircase, and he lies on one of the narrow beds, his face turned towards the entrance.

Just as she comes into view, the bus lurches dangerously, and she curses as she wobbles and nearly falls flat on her face. He snorts, and she grins dangerously, tossing back her flaming mane of hair. As she resumes her slow approach across the room, he falls into a thrall of sorts with the feline way she carries herself, and the smooth swaying of her hips as she walks. She stops, cocking an eyebrow.

"Like what you see?"

"Not quite enough," he drawls. "Let's make this worth the ordeal of reserving the whole bus for the evening, shall we?"

Her answering smile is a young predator's. "Too bad there aren't bus stations, you should have seen how many others do seem to deem me _quite enough_. The stares in the street were hovering between extremely flattering and downright embarrassing, really."

"First, bus stations are, as far as I recall, a common Muggle thing. Enough said. Second, I am no vulgar, common creeper and third..." He pauses and smiles at her toothily. "Your point?"

She laughs lightly. "You don't care about my point," she says. "Do you care about my dress, at least?"

Dark red, it compliments her pale freckled skin and her stunning figure. All in all he can't take his eyes off her. "By Weasley standards, I suppose it is flattering enough."

"Oh. That's good, I guess. Should it get off?"

"I wasn't aware that you could actually take a hint. I'll do this more often in the future."

Staring steadily into his eyes, unsmiling now, her face grave, a white canvas in a sea of red – a goddess', a haughty blood traitor's – she says "You know you'll pay for this, of course," while unclasping the dress.

He doesn't bother responding.

The dark velvet still hugs the very shape of her as it slides to the unsteady floor as if in slow motion. It is as though the universe had stilled around her and he briefly wants a camera to nail this moment down and keep it hidden somewhere forever, but it is absurd for the eerie whiteness, the smoothness of skin and the hypnotizing rise and fall of her chest with her regular breathing are all too _alive_ to be captured. He dismisses the thought and stares her up and down, fully taking her in with greedy eyes.

A vision in knee-high boots and dark red lingerie, she strides lazily towards him, his gaze locked into his.

He sits up, his breathing quickening, and she smiles another menacing smile, stopping at some distance, eyeing him with a speculative light in her eyes. He growls, a low and raw sound at the back of his throat, and reaches up to undo his own robes. She watches, tilting her head, smiling a faraway smile. He tosses his clothing away, revealing his pale, bare chest, the nearly-naked shape of him, and lies slowly back down, never breaking eye contact.

Two fluid steps, and she's towering above him, leaving him with the almost unbearable urge to reach up and tear her bra off, to touch hot, silky, offered flesh... then she drops beside him, her hair whipping his face like a curtain of fire, and her lips find his, hungry, wild.

They very nearly devour one another, performing a dance or fighting a war, a taste of doom, domination and_ heat_ making everything maddening. Her hair is falling on either side of their faces, drowning him in a frenzy of red, and all he sees is her, her, her, so much of her it actually hurts. She overtakes him, overwhelms him, a hurricane of silk and fire, raging, demanding. And as he bites into her lower lip and feels the tangy taste of blood, she bristles and snarls against him, hips bucking, nails clawing him, leaving a flaming, aching wake down his chest.

He smirks, for a second.

She straightens, tossing her hair everywhere in a jerky, angry movement, and then dives back down like a hawk or a vampire, her mouth finding his pulse, throbbing and vulnerable on his throat. Her tongue sweeps over the precise point and he cannot help but arch into her, the heat and wetness and this small, perfect contact enough to make his eyes roll back in his head. Her hollow laugh against his flesh speaks to him of heady danger, but he can't focus enough to listen – for her tongue starts tracing the edge of his neck, the shadows against his bones, the paths and shapes of his body in the candlelight, and it's like he's burning alive. His very being folds and unfolds under her touch, dark images flickering beneath his eyelids everytime he squeezes them shut, and he shudders, his heart constricted with a bittersweet kind of fear. It's like his skin is no protection anymore, like she's touching his bones and blood and entrails, making every single part of him alive and _screaming_. Part of him wants to run, frightened to death by the sheer intensity of what she makes him feel, and part of him dimly thinks that his world could burn to ashes right now, and he wouldn't notice.

She makes everything sharper, striking, burning –

The bus skids and they both slide a few inches on the bed, Draco's head nearly hitting the wall. She laughs, the sound wild and gleeful, and crawls back towards his face, stealing the breath from his lungs in one searing kiss, making his throat dry and his tongue prickling. He reaches blindly, tangling his fingers in her hair, holding her in place. His thumbs sweep against her cheeks, and one of his hands slides to cup the back of her neck as the other traces the delicate curve of her shoulder, the length of her arm... down... then back up, ghosting against the thin, fragile, sensitive skin on the inside of her limb, the crease of her elbow. He explores her with heightened senses and eager fingertips, goosebumps and beauty spots, shivers and shudders as he nears her breast, seemingly by accident, until she growls of frustration against his lips. He toys with the clasp of her bra before letting it slide slowly away, and then it is his turn to torment her, to make her hiss and moan and tremble. His hands are all over her, tracing patterns and deciphering riddles, and she allows this vulnerability to wash over her, surrendering. He touches her like he wants to crawl under her skin and read her from the inside out – and so he does.

"Want you," she hisses against his ear, and he lets out a small, breathy laugh.

"Likewise."

Everything goes considerably faster from there, closing in in a flurry of rushed touches and flying fabric and tangled limbs, discovery edging into possession. She finds herself on her back, her head jerking as a gasp escapes her lips, and he gives a strangled, guttural growl in response, for he's plunged into a heat so frantic it sort of feels like hell and heaven rolled into one, and he feels terrified again but the fear is part of the high. This is where they lose themselves in one another. She clings to him, claiming every confusing rush of feeling and thought, claiming him and this moment, and they rock and thrust together in a shaky, breathless, beautiful kind of dance, a choregraphy of the here and now, every second finding them more stunned and more desperately _greedy_.

He cries out, his body folding up and emptying out into her, and she only clings harder, something unknown and higher washing out from the very pit of her body, washing over her and him and the world.

She doesn't really hear her own voice calling, but she knows there are no words for this. "Draco" doesn't cover it, or maybe it does. She's actually beyond caring.

Astonishingly, seconds still tick by.

The Knight Bus skids and lurches in a hardly believable racket. Outside the day is falling into night in a much smoother embrace. Somewhere, people walk and talk and think that life is normal, people who might know them, or might not, or might assume they do. He wears an ugly blotch of a mark all over his left arm and he's breathing hoarsely against the bare skin of her neck.

Ginny tilts her head and smiles a slow smile, all swollen lips and still-dilated eyes.


End file.
